3
"Which girl will you visit today?"
With all the girls he had danced with or spoken to, Edward had admired and grown quite fond of a few. His father looked at him quite cheerily. "You must remember you can't visit Daphne Bridgerton."
Edward turned to look at his father, unimpressed.
"I haven't thought of it. I will visit Roslin Black, Eleanor Stevens... and Marina Thompson."
"Marina Thompson?" his mother spoke, walking behind his chair.
He smirked, his eyes dazing into the distance.
"Why should you visit her?" she pressed.
To be honest, he didn't have a clear answer—other than the chance it might give him to speak with Penelope. From where he sat, he caught the faintest glimpse of her turning to the side, as though she felt his eyes upon her.
His father narrowed his gaze at him. "Marina Thompson is hardly a choice that will please the right people, Edward."
His mother circled around him, her tone cool and assessing. "Her family is respectable, yes, but her future is... uncertain. I should hate to see you waste your attentions on a girl with so little stability."
Edward leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. "I'm not promising her a proposal, Mother. It's merely a visit."
"Visits lead to rumors," she replied sharply. "And rumors lead to scandal. Is that what you want?"
A hint of a smile curved his lips. "No, but sometimes rumors are useful."
"Useful to whom?" she asked, her brow arching.
Edward didn't answer. His eyes had wandered toward the far end of the drawing room, catching sight of Penelope Featherington speaking in hushed tones with her sisters. There it was again—that subtle pull she had on him, the quiet intrigue that grew stronger each time their paths crossed.
His father followed his gaze, then looked back at him, but said nothing.
Edward rose from his chair, brushing an invisible speck from his sleeve. "I'll make my calls this afternoon. Roslin first, then Eleanor... and perhaps Marina, if time allows."
His mother's lips pressed into a thin line. "If you must. But remember, Edward—your choices reflect upon us all."
He inclined his head politely, though his thoughts were already far from her words.
The Featherington estate was as lively as ever, awash in sunlight that poured through tall windows, catching the glint of gilded frames and floral-patterned upholstery.
Edward handed his hat and gloves to the butler, his expression perfectly polite, though beneath it his mind was far from thoughts of Marina Thompson.
Lady Featherington greeted him first, her painted smile warm but calculating. "Lord Edward, what a surprise. We hadn't expected a visit so soon."
"Forgive my intrusion, my lady," Edward said with an easy bow. "I thought it only proper to call on Miss Thompson and inquire after her health."
"How very thoughtful of you," Lady Featherington replied, her gaze sharp. "Marina is in the drawing room. I'm sure she will be... delighted."
He allowed himself to be led inside, making the usual pleasantries with Marina—complimenting her dress, asking after her cousins—yet all the while his eyes searched the edges of the room until they found her.
Penelope sat by the window, a book in hand, though it was obvious she hadn't turned a page in some time. She glanced up only once, but that fleeting look felt like a spark lit in the air between them.
When Marina excused herself to fetch more tea, Edward seized his chance.
"You appear far too distracted for such a fine afternoon," he said softly as he approached Penelope's chair.
She looked up at him, startled. "I am not distracted, my lord. I am... simply reading."
"Without turning a page for ten minutes?" His smile curved knowingly. "I would wager you've been listening to every word I've said instead."
Her cheeks warmed, and she quickly shut the book. "You are very sure of yourself."
"Not always," he replied, his voice lower now. "Only when I am certain I am in the presence of someone worth my attention."
Before she could answer, Marina returned, her laughter chiming as she rejoined them. The moment was broken, but Edward had seen enough—the quickened breath, the flush at her throat, the way her eyes darted back to his when she thought he wasn't looking.
He made polite conversation for another quarter of an hour, then rose to take his leave.
As Edward made himself comfortable on the settee opposite Penelope, his thoughts strayed briefly to Daphne Bridgerton.
She was everything society deemed ideal—graceful, accomplished, beautiful in a way that drew notice without effort.
And yet... even as the image of her perfect composure crossed his mind, his eyes drifted back to Penelope, whose presence stirred something far less predictable.
"I saw you at the Bridgerton ball," he began casually, as though remarking on the weather.
Penelope blinked, clearly not expecting the change in subject. "Did you?"
"Mm," he said, leaning back, one hand resting on the arm of the chair. "You stood with Miss Featherington and your sisters most of the evening. But you noticed her—Daphne Bridgerton, I mean."
"She is rather difficult not to notice," Penelope admitted with a small smile. "She is very beautiful."
Edward's gaze sharpened. "She is. And yet, I find beauty can be... predictable. A face like hers belongs in paintings, but it tells you nothing of the heart behind it."
Penelope tilted her head slightly. "And you believe you can read hearts?"
"Not all," he said, his tone quiet but certain. "Only the ones worth reading." His eyes lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than polite society would allow.
Her fingers curled against the fabric of her gown. "If you are asking my opinion of her... I think Miss Bridgerton is kind. And I hope she finds someone who values her for more than just her appearance."
Edward's smile curved, faint but genuine. "A wise answer. And perhaps one you might consider for yourself."
Before she could reply, Marina returned with the tea service, and the conversation shifted to safer topics. But the air between Edward and Penelope felt changed—charged with an unspoken understanding neither quite dared to name.
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A/N: hahah done!
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